


Cuckoo for Carol

by jaibhagwan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaibhagwan/pseuds/jaibhagwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is literally crazy about Carol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: The idea is original, but I do not own the characters. Inspired by the general insanity the characters have shown and deal with on the show. Expect wonky characterizations. This is my first AU. No offense intended towards people with actual mental illness. If you have or know someone who is suffering from a mental illness there is help for you at: NAMI dot org.
> 
> We're all a little crazy (case in point, I spend an unhealthy amount of time obsessing about my OTP).
> 
> Also, I really don't know where this is going. Sorry about that. Sometimes a girl just has to set a piece free to see where it flies.

"Fresh meat!" Philip Blake, the man wearing an eye patch, announced as a thin, silver-haired woman was wheeled onto the ward.

Daryl's eyes turned to gaze at the spectacle. The woman in the wheelchair had delicate features and looked like an angel the way the fluorescent lights shone upon her. He could even hear the harp strings being plucked that accompanied her arrival into his world. But she was a pitiful angel. There was something tragic about the far-off look in her eyes. Right away, he felt a special connection and wanted to help her. He was certain she felt dead inside like him. More than anything, he needed to see her smile. From that moment on, he knew they were destined for each other.

"Sit down, Phillip," Milton, the counselor, who looked more like an accountant in his wire-rimmed glasses, stated authoritatively. "We're not done with group yet."

The eye patch wearing fool turned his head with a murderous look in his unobstructed eye. "I told you to stop calling me that!" he shouted.

"Sit down, asshole! You ain't a real governor, you delusional psycho," Daryl hollered, angry that the man was blocking his view of the beautiful woman. He tilted his chair back to see his angel being wheeled down the hall until she disappeared into the third doorway on the right. He took a quick mental note of the location and filed it under: Urgent Action Needed.

"Daryl," Milton admonished him, "perhaps there is another way you could rephrase that less angrily."

"What? It's true. He's a psychopath!" Daryl argued, slamming the legs of the chair down.

"We don't use labels like that in here," the bookish counselor reminded him.

"This town needs leadership. I just so happen to be the only one with the right qualifications and upbringing," Philip said, pulling on the lapel of the suit jacket he wore over his blue hospital scrubs.

"You ain't in a town, you're in the loony bin with the rest of our sorry asses," Daryl grumbled. "Woodbury State Psych-i-atric Hos-pit-al," he read the inscription stamped on his pant leg in a loud voice.

"See, my leadership has already brought literacy to the redneck," Philip quipped, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.

Unhinged by the remark, Daryl lunged for Philip and tackled him to the ground, wrapping his hands around the man's neck.

"Daryl Dixon! Remove your hands at once or I will be forced to call security. Medication will be administered against your will."

Reluctantly, Daryl released his death grip. Normally, he wouldn't mind a little vacation in Benzoland. It was something to escape the monotony and his own sense of inadequacy. But now, he had a mission. This woman needed him, needed his help. He had to stay sober.

"Call me that one more time, Blake, and I will beat your ass into the ground," he threatened as he stood up and resentfully threw himself back into the state-issued chair.

"A reminder, Mr. Dixon, that there are to be no threats during group," Milton insisted.

"Wasn't a threat," Daryl stated, narrowing his eyes on his nemesis. "It was a promise."

"Promises should never be broken," a young blonde woman said naively. She smiled bashfully at the irritable redneck, who ignored her attempt at flirtation. Barely legal, she was young enough to be his daughter, and while he was many things, he was not a pervert.

Daryl only rolled his eyes.

"That promise could be ipso facto a threat considering the implied nature of the violence," Eugene uttered pedantically.

"No one asked you," Daryl scowled, unwilling to admit he did not understand the vocabulary the man often used.

Seeking backup, he turned his head and saw the former Sheriff's deputy, Rick Grimes, sitting half comatose and drooling in the chair next to him.

"Man, they got you on too many meds," Daryl complained with disgust.

Rick only drooled back in response.

"We're done here," Daryl announced impatiently, standing up and walking away as the group began to disperse.

* * *

Daryl stood nervously in the doorway, chewing on the skin around his fingernail, as he watched the silver-haired woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She was out of his league, he was certain of it. This woman had the elegance of a queen as she sat there, staring mournfully at a photograph she tenderly held between her long fingers. He felt sad for her.

"Dixon, quit hovering!" Glenn, the nursing assistant, called to him. "Give the lady her space."

The woman looked up from the photograph in that moment and met his gawking eyes. He stopped chewing on his finger as her brokenhearted blue eyes burned into his soul. Then a chill scaled his spine, and he knew she had seen straight through him to his melted core. It scared him speechless. No one had ever really seen him before, not even his asshole brother, Merle. And they were blood.

"Hi," she said softly with a melancholic chime that grabbed him by the balls and twisted.

He ached to be close her, but he couldn't move from the fear that suddenly gripped him and fixed him in place. The tiny woman was a powerful sorceress and he was already completely under her spell, willing to do whatever she asked of him. But eventually he would fuck it up, and she would learn, without a doubt, how much of a fuck-up he truly was. She had obviously been hurt very deeply; he would only let her down more. He couldn't do that to her.

The pressure was too intense. Feeling his face turn red, he tucked tail and left.

* * *

Back in the safety of his room, he paced back and forth vehemently.

 _You're actin' too much like a damn church mouse afraid of its own shadow_ , the voice in his head teased him. The voice sounded just like Merle. That asshole.

_You're a Dixon. We're tom cats. So find your balls and go back there and get 'er, Tiger!_

"Shut up!" Daryl shouted, covering his ears with his hands as he tried to block out the arrogant voice. "She ain't like that."

_Quit bein' a pussy and go get some!_

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he yelled as he continued to pace violently.

"Keep it down, Dixon," Glenn warned him as he passed in the hallway.

With a suspicious glare, Daryl turned towards the man, swaggering angrily towards the doorway. He stopped just in front of the man standing outside. "Who are you callin' a pussy?"

"Whoa, hold on," Glenn said, taking a step back and holding up his hands. "That is  _not_  what I just said."

"Best keep it that way." Lifting his chin, he stuck out his chest, prepared to fight the man, but then he saw the light illuminating from the silver-haired angel watching him from down the hallway. Robbed of his breath, he nearly collapsed. He kept his eyes on her as she slowly approached him. She was so graceful, as if she were gliding on the air. Leaning back on the doorjamb to stay upright, he counted down from ten, hoping he could remember how to breathe before she reached him.

By the time he got to one, she was standing there, making herself as small as possible and staring at him like he had all the answers. It gave him a little more confidence.

"Hi," he finally said before she could slip away. He wanted to put his arms around her to protect her.

"Dixon, why don't you show her around?"

Daryl nodded and the two of them walked towards the center of the ward together.

"My name's Carol." Her name came out in musical notes.

_Carol. Carol. Carol._

He replayed her name in his head like a song. She was a beautiful melody.

"Daryl," he forced out of his lips, completing the rhyme and sealing their fate.

When they arrived at the hub, he described the set-up to her. "This is the main area. There's a schedule posted on the wall. We meet for group twice a day over there." He pointed to the circle of chairs he was sitting at when she had arrived. "And art therapy. That's my favorite. They've got games to play at other times. Do you like to play games?" He couldn't hide the vulnerability he felt asking the question. But he needed to know if he could trust her.

Somehow, her face grew even softer and she shook her head no.

Relieved, he let go of the breath he was holding. It was comforting to know they were in perfect harmony. "Me neither."

His admission seemed to strengthen their connection because she took a step closer and he didn't seem to mind.

As difficult as it was, he pulled his eyes away from her to finish the tour. "That's the dining area," he said, pointing to an empty room behind a panel of glass windows, "though I'm not sure it's actual food they serve in there. And that's the nurse's station, if you, uh, need meds or somethin'." He shrugged. She didn't look like the type who needed drugs, but he wasn't going to judge her if she was. She was perfect.

Following his fingers, Carol looked at the counter where a woman with dreadlocks was sitting at a desk just behind it.

"That's Nurse Michonne," Daryl indicated. "Don't bother her when she's doing paperwork. Trust me."

They quietly crept past the woman as she worked.

"You just gotta be careful they don't give you too much medication, or you'll wind up like them," he warned her as they passed a few patients wandering around aimlessly, wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look. "The walking dead."

They moved towards a quiet corner. "That's Dr. Greene's office. He's a good listener." Daryl paused to gaze at her again. "So am I. You need anything, just ask. "

"Thank you, Daryl." The sweet way she said his name awakened something long dormant inside of him. "It was nice to meet you." A small but genuine smile arose on her lips. It was an encouraging beginning.

For the first time in his life, he felt his whole body sputter alive. It was an uncomfortable, but natural high. "The pleasure was mine, Carol."

Truly.


	2. We're All Mad Here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there. Not only is this my first AU, but my first story written without a planned outline. Hope you enjoy the ride. -jb

With the ache of her loneliness so unbearable, a heaviness had settled deep into Carol's bones, covering her in a thick mental fog. For a long time, things seemed unreal, worse than a nightmare. Faces were a blur, time seemed to almost stop completely. Like watching someone else's slideshow, she was there, but she was not there.

There were only the freckles on her daughter's face. The shrill fright in her voice as Sophia called to her.  _"Mama!"_

Her beautiful girl.

" _She's gonna be a heartbreaker, this one_ ," Dr. Murphy had told her when he finally placed the swaddled baby into her arms on the day she was born.

_Stupid, stupid. How could you be so stupid?_

After twelve years of marriage to Ed, self-beration had long ago become second nature. Trapped in the hazy logic of her head where she spent countless hours, she beat herself down a gloomy spiral of repentance, fueling her guilt with her pain. What else could she do?

Someone said something nearby, pulling her out of the fog. A man with a boyish face stood in her doorway, chewing on his thumbnail. He tried to hide behind a dark veil of shaggy hair, but it just made him look that much more pathetic, like a drowned dog who had waited loyally in a season of rain for his master to return. The needy look in his eyes told her he knew too well what it was like to be abandoned. It pulled her chest into a tight knot. She recognized the sheer terror paling his face. It reminded her of—

No, she couldn't let herself dwell on the past.  _This is now!_   _Stay in the goddamn moment_ , Ed often yelled at her.

Startled, she had barely squeaked out a hello before the man had fled. Perhaps she made him uncomfortable. She tended to do that, Ed always had to remind her to keep quiet.  _Always running that big mouth of yours._  Although she really couldn't remember the last time she had actually spoken to a person, anybody. This man was ashamed, and like a scolded child, he ran off with his tail between his legs.

She couldn't leave him like that, crushed. It wasn't fair for him to go around thinking he'd done something wrong.  _Got nobody to blame but yourself._  He needed something, even in her fog that much was clear. He needed someone to care about him, and Carol, unable to cope with her own loneliness, needed a distraction.

It was like caring for a wounded animal, she thought, she just had to be patient and let him make the first move. Maybe she just needed to give him another opportunity. They could start over.

Down the hall, she could hear someone cursing angrily. Oddly, the sound of his loud voice didn't frighten her. Instinctively, she knew it was that man, beating himself up over his failures. She had done it enough to know she couldn't let that stand. A strange energy began coursing through her body, compelling her to action. Suddenly, she was moving down the hallway towards the imploding black hole. Her mission was obvious, she had to save this innocent man from himself.

This time she was patient. Approaching slowly, she knew if she just waited, he would find his footing. And it worked. He began to walk beside her, introducing himself.

The man-child's name was Daryl. How fitting that their names rhymed; there was something karmic about that. It was a benevolent sign indeed. Maybe they could help each other.

He had the earnest face of one who could be trusted completely. For the first time in a very long time, Carol smiled.

* * *

"Alright, why don't we start with introductions and some of the group rules to welcome Carol here to the fold," Milton stated at group the next morning.

"Welcome, little lady, to our fair town of Woodbury. People call me the Governor." Philip winked at her.

Daryl scoffed, but said nothing.

"We don't like liars here," Philip added, shedding the plastic grin he wore for an intimidating glare as he paraphrased a rule in his own demented way.

"Part of being honest, is telling about our true selves. Why don't you tell her your given name?" Milton urged him.

"You can call me... Philip," he said his name distastefully. "But only you. Only her!" He eyed the group in warning.

"Very good , you're making progress," Milton said with an encouraging smile.

"What's said here, stays here," said a man with intense blue eyes.

"Aren't you going to tell her your name?" the counselor inquired.

"Rick Grimes, ma'am. Very nice to meet you. Sorry, I'm a little groggy today." He turned his head towards Milton. "I think it's that new medication."

Daryl elbowed the former deputy. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Rick scratched at his beard and nodded uncertainly.

"I'm Beth," the young blonde said. "We're supposed to be respectful of everyone. Do unto others, you know."

"Her last name is Greene," an older blonde woman clarified, "which I'm fairly certain violates some type of ethical standard. Although, we're not supposed to talk about other people's business around here, without their permission, so it never gets addressed."

"Don't mind Andrea. She's some type of big shot lawyer," Daryl explained to Carol, "or at least she thinks she is. You never can tell with this bunch."

"My name is Eugene." The mulleted man nodded at Carol stiffly. "The rule that I would like to state is this: do not comment on appearances. Some would consider it impolite. Eccentricities are, strictly speaking, of a personal nature that need not be swayed by popular opinion, as they are often representative of a creative mind. Or genius as the case may be. Not necessarily of madness."

After a silent pause, Milton turned to Daryl. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

Daryl blushed as he looked at Carol. "Already had the pleasure."

"Hi, everyone, I'm Carol," she said meekly, wringing her hands. "I'm not sure what to say."

Daryl's eyes were drawn to the movement. That's when he spotted the glint of gold around her finger. Despite its gleam, he immediately felt contempt for the ring, seeing how it cast a shadow over her and kept her shackled to something sinister, something that was tarnishing her otherwise spotless aura with a disturbing gloom. He scowled at it.

"Don't gotta say nothin', 'less you wanna," Daryl assured her, feeling himself liquefy under her aquamarine gaze.

"It's true, Carol," Milton confirmed. "You can just observe until you feel more comfortable." Turning to the group, he asked, "Who would like to begin?"

Carol smiled nervously. It was a false smile, it didn't reach her eyes or brighten the gloom on her face. It wasn't anything like the genuine smile she had given Daryl the day before. He stared at her, confounded by this complex creature. She was the sun, and he needed her to shine.

"I guess, I'll start," Rick stated, taking the initiative. "It's been hard being away from my son. I know he's gotta be takin' it hard. With me in here and Lori... I don't know sometimes, it still doesn't seem real, you know?"

"It's a reality you have to face," said Andrea.

"Believe me, I know, I just—" Rick stopped speaking as he leaned forward, elbows on knees as he played with the ring on his finger. "I still see her."

"Maybe you're just not ready to say goodbye," Beth said gently.

"That's fuckin' selfish," Daryl spat. "You should be thinkin' about your kid. What's he got now, huh?"

"You're right."

The anger hardened in Daryl's chest and seized when he noticed Carol's creamy complexion had turned dull and ashen. There was no light in her eyes. Like a small child, his thumb went to his mouth and he pulled at the skin with his teeth. Suddenly, he was not certain of anything, if he ever was.

"The problem with children," Philip complained, "is that they are so childish. I—"

"Shut up, dumbass," Daryl interrupted, never tearing his eyes away from the sad woman. He leaned forward, the concern creasing his brow. "Carol, are you alright?"

Everyone turned to look at Carol, who suddenly looked startled. Color had begun to return to her face and her cheeks flushed a bright red. "Oh, I'm, I'm sorry, I...I'm not—" she stammered, scanning their confused faces. Standing abruptly, she pushed back her chair with her legs and fled.

Daryl felt like a giant asshole putting the spotlight on her.  _The hell you thinkin'?_  He stood as if to go after her.

"Daryl, remember we put thoughts into words here, not action," Milton cautioned him.

Uncertain of what to do, Daryl stalled. "You wanna know my thoughts?" he asked, pressing his brow together. His thoughts were racing, even he didn't know what he was thinking; the look on her face had been so devastating. Maybe Carol wanted to be left alone. He could understand that. But if he offended her, he needed her to know he hadn't meant to. He was just concerned about her.

"Yes, what are you feeling? What is it that you want?"

_Yeah, Darlina. Tell the good people how sweet ya are on that honey pot._

At the sound of Merle's voice, Daryl looked suspiciously at the group. "Screw this!" he huffed at Milton, taking off in the opposite direction that Carol had gone.


End file.
